


Sunset

by d__T



Series: The Afternoon Light Cuts to Size [2]
Category: Blood Drive (TV)
Genre: First Dates, Flirting, POV Alternating, hitchhikers are serial killers trope, now THIS is the cutest shit I've ever written, that horror movie freaks podcast is canon as far as I'm concerned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-21
Updated: 2018-02-21
Packaged: 2019-03-22 04:34:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13756413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d__T/pseuds/d__T
Summary: Slink attempts to indulge in his hobby of picking up hitchhikers and killing them. In the process he acquires Rasher.





	Sunset

**Author's Note:**

> There's another section to this that's stuck in purgatory. rating and tags will be changed to reflect MURDER if I ever actually write it.

The sun is setting in a spectacular red blaze over the ocean. Rasher’s too far from the ocean to see the water; the air has been cleaner at ground level since The Scar, but the atmosphere is still fucked. Still, the sky above the red is a beautiful smoked blue. It’s breathtaking.

He resettles his backpack and starts walking again. This part is pretty good- incredibly peaceful and beautiful. Better than the suburbs he haunts during the days. This part is also tedious as fuck if he thinks about it, which he doesn’t. The waiting for a car to come by. The walking, though, that’s soothing.

Soon enough the thin hum of a four cylinder appears behind him. He doesn’t look because there’s a little guessing game to play now. Wagon? Sedan? It’s been a long time since he’s caught a sports car. There’s something off about the engine sound, something not quite right. He looks now- some kind of square red thing, a wagon maybe. Huh.

Wagons are usually family cars, but he’s never liked killing children. They’re not part of this cruel game that he plays. Regardless: he sticks his thumb out and tries to exude as much adoptable youthful innocence as he can from his gangly 6 foot plus body and twenty five years of age. That ploy hasn’t worked terribly well in a while but it never hurts to try.

The red wagon zips by before pulling over on the gravelly shoulder ahead of him. Rasher coughs on the dust as he jogs to catch up.

The car is tiny- he could easily rest his elbows on the roof- and when he bends to open the passenger’s side door, it’s only occupied by one person. The driver is a man, with loose dark hair, neat goatee, eccentric attire. Rasher drops his backpack into the footwell and folds himself into the seat. This is gonna be an interesting one.

 

* * *

 

Slink cackles when he sees the figure walking along the side of the road up ahead. He’s a ways out from the last town, far enough for most people to be bored of walking and really ready to take a lift. And sure enough, when he gets closer, the figure sticks out a thumb.

Perfect. He pulls by and stops just ahead to let the hitcher catch up.

The guy is dressed like, holy shit, one of those Heart employees that has no sense of style except this one has managed to pop a button on his hideously colored shirt to achieve some level of cool.

Slink knows he’s not supposed to kill other employees because their shirts are ugly, but damn this one is just  _ asking _ for it.

“Hi,” His new passenger says, “Thanks for the pick up.”

“My pleasure,” Julian says. “My name is Julian. Where are you headed?”

“Uh, as far south as you’ll take me. I’m Rasher.” The skinny guy looks around the vehicle with a healthy amount of curiosity as he replies.

“Rasher. Like the cut of bacon?” Julian quips, observing him out of the corner of his eye. The guy doesn’t seem meaty enough to have earned the name, but maybe his parents had a sense of humor.

“Mhm,” Rasher nods and looks out the window.

“That’s a funny name.” Julian says. Rasher doesn’t react, clearly over all possible jokes about his name already. But it’s interesting, because whatever Rasher’s selling with his clean shaved face and relentlessly middle suburbia outfit, there’s things that just don’t fit right. A two finger ring, visible as the stranger taps his fingers on the armrest, the peek of black boots as his trouser leg rode up when he stepped into the vehicle. The general level of wear on the otherwise unremarkable backpack. Whoever he is, he’s not quite what he appears to be.

That’s quite all right, Slink loves a little mystery.

 

* * *

 

Rasher catches Julian checking him over and cracks a slight smile. He catches the smirk as Julian looks away, too.

Well then.

“What sends you south?” Julian asks with a bland inquisitiveness.

Oh, so they’re already at the part where they lie to each other. “I’ve got a gig this weekend. Coulda taken a bus of rented a car-” a blatant display of wealth that Rasher absolutely doesn’t have- “but this is more fun, yanno?

He turns the smile on for Julian. Julian smiles back, easy and open. Rasher is distracted by it, caught up in how expressive he is and how nice that’ll be when he finally goes for the kill.

“Gig?” Julian asks. “Like music?”

Rasher shrugs. “Sometimes. I do event organizing.”

That earns him a sharply inquisitive looks from Julian, who says slowly, “Like logistics?”

“You could call it that. I find all kinds of entertainment for all kinds of events.” Rasher winks salaciously. It’s a terrible look on him. Julian is immediately endeared.

“Interesting.” Julian snickers. “Any chance I could witness this weekend’s entertainment?”

“Nah. This one’s a wedding. Very fancy, very private. Rich fucks, you know.” Rasher smirks at Julian. “They be  _ displeased _ if I let an uninvited person in, no matter how handsome they are.”

“That’s just a damn shame, then.“ Julian looks thoughtful. “Why aren’t they driving you in?”

“I’m taking a little vacation before spending four continuous days not sleeping and getting bitched at by some dumb bitch who already hates her future husband. But the money’s worth it. Gonna set me up for the rest of the year, just about.” Rasher taps his fingers, genuinely dreading the upcoming days. “So I’m having a little fun to get me through it.”

“Huh.” Julian says, clearly actually giving a shit about what Rasher’s saying. People usually don’t care, only asking questions to fill the silence.

“So what do you do?”

 

* * *

 

“Well, that’s the question, isn’t it.” Julian waves a hand by way of explanation. “I will be the producer of a new TV show, if I can figure out the logistics well enough to finish selling it.”

He smirks at Rasher, who has clearly picked up where this is going. “Did I hear you say your schedule is open after this weekend?”

“Well,” Rasher drawls. “Depends on if you’re paying me or nah.”

Julian winks. “Endless riches.”

“Somehow I doubt that.” Rasher snickers. “Hit me with the premise.”

Julian hits him with the premise, the sales pitch, and the  _ vision _ .

 

* * *

 

By the time Julian’s winding up exposition on the  _ vision _ he has for the show, the sun is thoroughly set and they’ve washed up in a brilliantly chrome and neon diner. It’s the way all good diners are- perfect, absurd, and displaced in time. A slightly altered reality.

Rasher is picking over the remains of his food when Julian leans towards him, posture made entirely of earnestness. “I’ll drive you all the way to your gig. I just need to get fuel first.”

“You were supposed to be my fuel.” Julian continues slyly.

Rasher nods, unperturbed by this after the pitch he just went through. “I figured. Was gonna ask you to stop for food, and then gut you and maybe eat you. I hadn’t decided.”

Julian laughs, delighted. “That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me!”

Rasher rolls his eyes, mock exasperated. “I still kinda want to; you make the  _ best _ expressions.”

Julian slides one hand across the table to grasp one of Rasher’s. “Let’s go hunting. Do me the honor.”

 

* * *

 


End file.
